


In The Dark

by afoxesportion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fade to Black, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Implied/Referenced Torture, Order Member Draco Malfoy, Order of the Phoenix (Harry Potter), Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Wizarding Wars (Harry Potter), everyone wants to hit Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afoxesportion/pseuds/afoxesportion
Summary: Dramione one-shot: In the midst of war, going from safe house to safe house, Draco Malfoy gives Hermione a lot to think about.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing and the swearing is swear-y and explicit. TW: for implied torture.

**14 June 2000**

The electricity had gone, again. He'd arrived at the Muggle safe house (as all Order safe houses were) and it was already fucked when he got there. Shut off or faulty, Draco didn’t know and he didn’t have either the ability to fix it or the inclination either. 

It wasn’t uncommon for members of the Order to portkey to a new place to find there was no power, in fact, they expected it now. The pure- and half-bloods among them tended to just wait around for the next Muggleborn who /might/ know their way around a fuse board to appear, before watching, in fascination, as they’d roll their eyes and flick the switch that brought the light back and made the fridge hum. Like magic. 

They had alternatives, of course, when there was no light or Muggleborns to do the job. Everywhere was well stocked with candles and jam jars to hold the soft, blue flames Hermione had taught them all to cast. /Lumos/ was an option too, in a push, but it occupied ones wand a little too much in these war torn times and nobody’s nerves were too comfortable holding the spell for more than a few minutes at most. 

And so, with the sun long set and the cool of night settling through the house, Draco sat at the kitchen table of an empty safe house, with a jam jar of flames dancing before him, that uplit his latest black eye spectacularly. He was drunk/ish/ and exhausted down to his bones, the black eye doing little to improve his already somewhat surly mood. 

These days, since he'd defected to the Order with no small amount of drama, there were always pretty even odds going over who ever had given him his latest shiner. Whether a Death Eater or an Order member, with a short fuse and a grudge, it was always one or the other. More than once he’d hinted, not so subtly, that keeping a cauldron of calming draught simmering for the over-emotional fucking Gryffidnors might be pertinent. Especially as they seemed to take it in turn.

He hadn’t been at the safe house long, long enough to cast _Homenum Revelio_ , to come up with some light and to check the fridge and pantry. It was second nature now, checking for occupants and sustenance (either of the alcoholic or nutritious kind, he wasn’t fussy), not that there was ever much of anything in the fridge. Merlin, this fridge was currently leaking water across the floor. 

The crack of apparition cuts through the silence and his heart sinks, though he doesn’t outwardly show his disappointment. What he’d give for an evening to himself without whichever buffoon was about to barge in and whatever reception they’ll give him. It had been just over a year since he’d ‘defected’ to the Order, he’d fought countless battles, hexed numerous Death Eaters and saved many a life; they still held being a knob at school against him. 

Then she stumbles in, tripping on the welcome mat, with a muggle ‘torch’ in one hand and her raised wand in the other. He watches her face as she takes it all in: the jam jar flames, glass of whisky, his black eye and the brooding… Not to mention the fridge weeping pathetically in the corner. 

“Malfoy,” she says as she straightens up, her wand still raised before her like a good witch on guard. “What did you give to me your first night in the Order?” 

He grins up at her, his mood already on the up since mere moments before, “a ‘lot to process’, apparently. How’s that going, Granger?”

She huffs lightly, content that he is who he’s supposed to be but not entirely happy with either his line of questioning or his failure to check her identity. “Ask me a question, Malfoy”.

He shifts at the table, leaning his forearms against the grain before him. He’s enjoying winding her up, he so rarely gets to do it, and it’s far more entertaining than the evening he had planned before she apparated in. “I believe,” he drawled. “That was a question…” 

She rolls her eyes at him, though in the low light he can hardly see it. It’s more likely he knows her well enough to expect it by now. “A question to determine my identity, Malfoy”. 

“I don’t know, Granger," he tells her like he’s actually contemplating it but he’s drawing out the conversation and they both know it. “That could reveal to me hidden parts of your identity and I think it’s a valid question,” he teases. 

“But you don’t know the answer, so you can’t determine my identity from the question. Ask another, Draco”. 

His smile fades as he asks, "do you know the answer yet?” She replies with a glare and her patience is clearly thoroughly tested at this point. He doesn’t fancy another bruise to add to the collection so asks, “fine, who won our first game of Wizarding chess?”

She nods, happier that at least this question has a black and white answer, “you, but you cheated”. 

He scoffs at her, "I won”. 

“Not fairly,” she replies with a shake of her head, curls bouncing as she grows indignant before him. 

“Oh yes,” he says before gesturing around them in the darkened room. “And all is so far so fair in this war, love”. She shakes her head at him before moving to flick the light switch on, “power’s out, Granger, we’re stuck in the dark”. 

She changes her direction, heading across the kitchen to pass him, her face fixed with determination in the face of a problem she can finally fix. “Oh, I’ll go find the fuse board, see if I can fix it-“

He grabs her arm as she moves to pass him, tugging her back towards him, “no, don’t,” he tells her. “I like you in the dark”. 

She scoffs at him and tries to pull her arm away before she launches into what he’s sure would be a trademark Granger rant. “Oh, thanks-“

“No. Not what I meant, sit," he demands, gently squeezing her arm. Before asking her, “have a drink?” 

He watches as she settles into the chair across from him, taking the bottle for herself and pouring a generous measure before looking at him with an expression that clearly expected an explanation. 

“I like how you treat me in the dark,” he tells her, trying to explain without giving up the last few scraps of his pride. “It feels like you trust me in the dark, oddly. It’s like you forget it’s me here across from you and we can sit here and be… not friends, but something. There’s no bullshit, no houses, I’m not feeling compelled to give you any ultimatums, I like it”. 

She’s somewhat speechless before him, staring at him in a way that makes him dare to hope, at last, they’re on the precipice of a ‘moment’… And then the moment is broken as she hisses seeing, in the light of the soft blue flames, for the first time this evening the bruising of his black eye. 

“Who this time?" she asks and he can’t quite tell if she’s preparing to jump on a soapbox, if need be, or to throw a few punches of her own. Gryffindors. 

“Death Eater,” he tells her and it isn’t a lie. “For a change, though Weasley looked quite pleased when he saw it so it must’ve been inevitable”. He might be an Order member but he’s not a saint and his grudge against Weasley survived school for different reasons. 

She frowns at him, annoyed with her peers or maybe just noticing his dig at her friend and choosing to ignore it, he can never quite tell. “Want me to heal it?” she asks. 

“Nah,” he tells her. "Keeps the next one at bay”. The truth is, his eyes are so bruised from the lack of sleep that on any given day he might as well have a black eye anyway. But that applied to he and everyone else in the Order, he wasn’t special. 

“I can have a word-" she offers before he interrupts her.

“Merlin, please don't. I dont think my pride can take it, witch”. 

“Draco, they shouldn't beat you-"

“It’s not like i've not earned it, Hermione. It’s not like I’ve not dealt them out myself. If they need to hit me to feel better about my fighting alongside them? Fuck it, they can have at it. We’ve had two fucking years of this shit, we’re all fucked up. It’s a fucking mess out there and we all have to get through it somehow”. 

“…but fighting wont solve it-" she tries to argue.

“Do you even realise the irony-"

“Yes, don’t be a twat. I’m being serious. Fighting amongst ourselves wont wind this war and your’e one of us now. It’s been a year, they need to learn to coexist with you already”. 

“I don’t care about them though, they don’t matter to me. You matter,” he tells her, as if they hadn’t had this argument already. 

“Malfoy-“

“No, I mean it. They don’t matter to me, Hermione, but you do. I’ll take beating after beating if it keeps me here with you, able to keep an eye on you”. 

“Draco-“ she starts, desperate to get a word in edgeways but he won’t let her. 

“You need to think long and hard, Hermione, about what I said that first night. I’m not giving you an ultimatum but… Your indecision, it’s bruising me deeper than any of these punches”.

* * *

**29 May 1999**

It had been raining constantly, it seemed like it hadn’t stopped in weeks. It was a relentless, cold rain that settled in the bones of Grimmauld Place and left them all damp, freezing and depressed. They were not winning the war, it was going terribly, and the weather reflected the morale of the Order of the Phoenix perfectly. 

They’d been called in to an, apparently, urgent meeting and there wasn’t a single member of the Order gathered in the hallway who was in the mood for whatever shit-spiral that was surely about to go down. Even Fred and George’s smiles were lacking as they half-heartedly teased Neville whose arm was linked tightly with Hannah’s. 

Watching them, her friends who'd once been so carefree, Hermione didn’t know how much more they could take before they snapped. Something had to change, and soon, or they’d be beaten down entirely. Voldemort’s forces were too strong, the Death Eaters too well funded… They needed an edge.

“Granger!” Mad-Eye barked in her general direction, as he hobbles into the hall, entirely disregarding her efforts to avoid inciting the vocal resident on the wall in one of her rants.

She can’t help but cringe as Walburga jumps right in to track 1 of her xenophobic record, “yes, sir?”

“A word,” he said ominously, with both of his eyes levelled upon her. 

“Yes, sir,” she replies as she follows him to the kitchen, ignoring the nudges of the Weasley twins as she passes them.

It took a lot to surprise Hermione these days, despite only being 19 years of age she had seen a little too much to be shocked by anymore. She thought she was even immune to Mad-Eye’s surprises but nothing could have prepared her for the sight before her when she crossed the threshold of the kitchen door. 

The click of the lock behind her barely registered as she took in the room before her, the kitchen was a mess and there was an unmistakable tang of blood in the air. Remus stood beside a chair in the middle of the room that had, by all accounts, appeared to have had restraints on it very recently. 

Remus smiles nervously at her, though he seemed unapologetic of the scene before her there was something off. “Evening, Hermione. Sorry about this, we just… We thought it best you, of all people, go into the meeting prepared”. 

“Me ‘of all people'?" she asked, trying to take in the disarray and read the room, her brain working at capacity as she tried to process every minute detail. 

“This morning we were approached by a friend of yours,” Remus began, ignoring the scoff that came from Mad-Eye. “He… It’s difficult to explain”. 

“I’m not sure I follow you, Remus". 

“It’s Draco Malfoy," he blurted out in a burst, throwing it into the room like a dung bomb, consequences be damned. 

Hermione gasped, already shocked a second time this evening, “Draco is a Death Eater”. 

“Not anymore,” said Mad-Eye with finality. “He’s defected, to us, and we’re damn lucky for it”. 

“You’re sure?” she asks, remembering the Draco from her childhood with little difficulty. 

Mad-Eye looks at her and asks, "you doubt me, Granger?” As if daring her to question his judgment, as the smell of blood becomes ominously clearer in the room. 

“No, sir,” she whispers, scared for the first time of the man leading them in this war. 

“You need to speak to him, Hermione,” interrupts Remus. “He… He’ll need someone on his side amongst the lot of you and, frankly, you’re the most sensible. It’s best it’s you, you can talk them around”. 

“You think too highly of me, Remus". 

He smiles, ignoring her, heading to the door that Mad-Eye had opened once more before saying, “we’ll give you a minute”. 

It was then she saw Draco leaning against the frame of the pantry doorway, dabbing at the mess that was his face with a damp cloth. If he’d overhead her exchange with the older wizards he didn’t comment, didn’t defend or justify himself. 

She walked towards him, leaving only a foot between them when she stopped to scrutinise his face. “What did they do-“

“What they had to," he tells her firmly. 

She must look like she's about to argue with him, an expression she realised he probably knew quite well. 

“Granger… I need to talk to you. Three months ago, in the Manor…”

“I remember,” she tells him. "I was there”. 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head at her, entirely unlike the Draco she’d known at school. Before he’d have taken the bait and they’d have argued, one upping each other with insults, seeing who could hit closer to the bone. Now, he smiles at her indulgently, it’s unnerving but not, she realises, a bad kind of unnerving. 

“I was such a dick when we were at school,” he tells her. “Such a dick to you. You should’ve slapped me more often, I deserved it”. 

“You did,” she agrees, giving little away. 

“I… There aren't any excuses, or I'm not going to make them. I got caught up in a lot…”

“We all did, Malfoy," she says, throwing him a bone. 

“Exactly, no excuses. Even before you were at the Manor… I knew. I knew I’d made the wrong choices but I couldn’t escape them, I couldn’t see a way out, I couldn’t say no because nobody had ever told me how.

And then there you are, and my Aunt's doing… That. Yet you fight it, you fight her and you say no and, Merlin, Granger you’re so damn strong. I tried. I tried to help… What help was I? I don’t know,” he finishes with a shake of his head, brow furrowed. 

“You wouldn’t identify us, Malfoy. You refused and you helped”. 

He smiles softly at her, shaking his head, “your faith in people…”

She starts to argue with him but he cuts her off, “it’s not a bad thing. That first week after the Manor… you made me think, you gave me something to aspire to. You shook up my whole world, when you fought back against that psychopath. 

And so I made a plan, to get out, I've spent the past two months gathering as much information as I could, finding out as much as I could, sneaking into meetings, listening in, snooping, everything. To come here and offer myself up, to the Order, I’m at their disposal. I know what I’ve done, I know I can’t absolve myself, but…

Hermione, you need to know, it's all because of you. Everything I’ve ever done that’s good I’ve done these past months and it’s all on you. I looked back and I realised how much scared me as a child. You scared me because you were so bright, so intelligent and fearless and everything I was taught to hate about you was wrong and you were _you_ so shamelessly and you terrified me.

You still terrify me, but now... It's because I realised, that then - and certainly now - part of me has always… Part of me, I think, has aways loved you”. 

She gasps, “Draco-"

“And I know what i'm saying, believe me. I know what this must look like, I know what kind of position me telling you this must make you feel like you’re in. Please, please, please don’t feel obligated. I’m here whether you like or not, my allegiance isn’t dependent on you or anything, I’m here whether you like it or not, whether you feel the same or not - I know what I am, what I represent. 

I mean look at me, I'm a mess! A beaten to shit ex-Death Eater who bullied you mercilessly, really Hermione, I know what this looks like but I couldn’t bear you not knowing now they know-“

“They know?” she asks. 

“Lupin and Moody. They looked in my head, I showed them, had to really. And they saw… They saw enough. They won’t tell the rest of the Order but you needed to know”. 

She looks at him and she’s stunned. She sees him, stood there with his hair in disarray, the bruises coming through on his face, his clothes are an uncharacteristic mess and he’d never looked so unlike the Malfoy she knew. He’d also never looked so resolute, so confident, so full of conviction. 

He held her eyes, and with her brain somewhat mush all she could think was, had they always been so… stormy? He’d grown since school, a head taller than her now, but for the first time he didn’t intimidate her. He didn’t scowl or glare… he was honest. 

She’d never been stunned before, metaphorically of course. To feel so mentally awash with shock and unable to process anything but the minute details that really weren’t supposed to be the most important thing right now. 

He’d just confessed his love for her and she… just couldn’t stop staring. Had his jaw always been so perfect? It should be criminal. 

“Say something, please?" he asks her, the silence getting to him. Do something, Merlin, you can slap me if you want-“

She moves before she can even think to not, stepping into his space, reaching her hand up to the nape of his neck and pulling him down to meet her halfway. Closing her eyes before their lips meet softly she misses the look on his face, misses the shock and surprise. Shock and surprise that, if she’d have seen it, she’d have thought was deserved - given the bombshell he’d dropped on her. 

It was a fleeting kiss, mere second passed before she stepped away. A beat passed before she’s looking up at him again and watching while he struggles to pull his wits about him. 

“That’s… god, Malfoy. That’s a lot to process”. 

* * *

**23 June 2000**

He told her to think and so she thinks, it’s all she does. It wasn’t the first time it had come up but it was the first time he’d pressed for an answer. There’d been a few times when she’d come close to giving him one, to knowing it herself, and they’d kissed again since that first night… More frantic than anything, more desperate than comforting. 

She’d never been able to commit though, something had always held her back. 

She’s on guard duty and, sure she's paying attention, but in the back of her mind she thinks constantly about him watching her and the way it makes her feel. Something stirs whenever he fixes his eyes on her and he always leaves her breathless and anticipating - balancing on the brink of something. 

She’d spent enough time thinking over the past year to know that, even when they were kids, it had been there. Maybe they’d just misinterpreted it all in the prejudice of their years at school together. 

The truth is she knows the answer really, she doesn’t need to spend too much time thinking about it, it just terrifies her. He terrifies her. More than Death Eaters, more than even Voldemort, who’d taken so many from her already. 

Hatred and sadness were so easy to her now that she hardly feared them, they were familiar feelings that were rooted in her mind. Possibility, hope? They were fucking terrifying. 

It’s night when she arrives at the next safe house but the lights are on - a good sign - and she moves to the door, tapping the entry spell quickly against the doorknob. There was always a little bit of nerves when crossing the threshold of a safe house, you never knew who you’d be bunking with, so to speak, nobody’s assigned and it’s more a case of timing. 

Through the door Dean Thomas is sitting in front of the telly howling with laughter, holding his sides and bent double over at whichever late night talk show host is posturing on the screen. He smiles, welcoming her, and she’s relieved it’s a familiar face. 

They pass each other's identities with questions from happier days before she asks, “anyone else here?” 

“Malfoy, he’s upstairs showering, looked a bloody mess when he got in”. 

“A mess?” she asks, not hiding her concern. “Is he ok?”

“He’s bloody, I don't think it was all his, well not most of it”. 

“He’s on our side, Dean,” she tells him sternly, ready to start her ‘Draco Malfoy is One Of Us Stop Needlessly Punching Him’ lecture she’d given countless times the last year. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I know, I’ve not punched him in months. We’re good now, Hermione, ever since the battle of Tamworth”. 

She nods, accepting his answer, before heading towards the stairs and Draco, ignoring Dean’s smile as she passes. 

It’s obvious which room he's claimed, he’s not subtle, or particularly tidy; he’d clearly never had to tidy up after himself as a child and she’d always teased him about it whenever she thought he could take the teasing. There’s a bloody t-shirt on the duvet, a bottle of something brown and alcoholic on the bedside table, and candles already flickering on the bedside table. 

This was definitely the room Draco had claimed as his own for the foreseeable. 

When the shower shuts off and he returns to the room she’s already dozing on top of the bedcovers and, if he’s surprised at her presence he doesn’t show it. Her hair’s fanned out like a halo around her head on the pillow and she seems peaceful for the first time in a long time. 

He stubs his toe on her discarded shoes by the bed, swearing profusely, and she wakes with a start at the noise. “Sorry,” he tells her as she sits up making incoherent noises. 

She looks at him and, she's glad for her sleepy state, because she’s at a loss for words. His platinum hair’s still damp and untidy, so unlike the Draco she normally sees. She doesn’t let herself even register that he’s only wearing a towel, she’d probably combust then and there. 

“What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asks. 

“Wrong type of question, Draco," she replies, security is paramount again now she’s awake. 

He pulls a face at her, “last year, your birthday, what did I give you?”

“A bottle of vodka and a spell written on a scrap of paper,” she said with a grin. “Your birthday, what did I give you?” 

“Best damn kiss of my life," he replies, immediately, not missing a beat before settling himself down on the bed next to her. There’s space between them but not much, he wants her to make the choices here. The quaffle is in her hands. 

“What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asks her a second time. 

“I wanted to see you," she tells him. “It’s been a long week”. 

“It’s been a fuck of a week," he agrees. “We survived it”. 

“We did, and… I've been processing". 

He says nothing but she can tell he's hardly breathing beside her. She reaches her hand out across the space between them, taking his hand in hers and squeezes it tightly, though she’s not quite sure who she’s reassuring. 

“You terrify me," she tells him. 

“I terrify you?" he replies with a whisper, trying to pretend his world wasn’t starting to fall apart. 

She scoffs, rolling into his side and pressing her other hand against his bare chest. “You terrify me. War, murder, the relentless dying… I can take that, I’m used to it now. Hope, possibility, you? I’m not sure I can handle any of that”. 

She feels him gulp beneath her, "but… you want it?” He asks. 

She looks up at him, a smile playing at the corner of her eyes, “I’m - what did you call me? A insufferably optimistic pain in your arse Gryffindor, Draco, of course I want it”. 

Who moves first? It's impossible to tell. But he’s pressing her into the mattress while she cards her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer toward her, if that’s even possible. 

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Granger,” he tells her, pushing her t-shirt up her body. He’s gentle as he guides it over her hair and mass of curls, careful not to snag or catch them before chucking the shirt across the room. 

She tries to wiggle her jeans off but makes an absolute hash of it, having a futile fight with the denim and soon he’s laughing and, oh Merlin, she’d never heard him laugh so freely before. She stops as the sound of it, wanting to savour this new part of him, wanting to be a part of a world where she can make him laugh just like that every damn day. 

“You ok?” he asks as he pulls away, aware she’s stopped and that she’s staring at him in a way he’s not used to. Not used to yet. 

“Perfect,” she tells him, a little breathless, but desperate to reassure him. 

He looks at her, lips quirking into a smile, “no shit”. 

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 4 of The Aftermath is coming (first draft is done) but after a busy week at work I lost Draco for a while and writing this helped me find him again.


End file.
